


Ever By Your Side

by orphan_account



Category: Kuroshitsuji | Black Butler
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, Fluff and Angst, I Will Go Down With This Ship, Insanity, M/M, My First Multichap, Romance, Shinigami Centered, Skitsophrenia, The Author Regrets Nothing, Tragic Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-09-17
Updated: 2014-11-18
Packaged: 2018-02-17 19:32:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 6
Words: 4,167
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2320814
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Grell finds Undertaker at his worst.  What happens when Grell rediscovers a side to himself he though was long dead?</p><p>----------------------------------------------------------<br/>"Don't leave.  Not yet."  Undertaker's voice was more steady but no less frightened.<br/>"Of course.  I'm not going anywhere." replied Grell.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. They Won't Be Quiet

**Author's Note:**

> I will try to get out a weekly update, but my schedule is crazy with school starting, so I might be a bit late.

Grell approached the door to the mortuary. This was always the worst part of visiting Undertaker, wondering which coffin he would be hiding in this time. In truth, the rest of the visit wasn't so bad. Grell could appreciate Undertaker's morbid humor.  
The door creaked slightly as the crimson reaper pushed it open. He cautiously peered inside, and found that all the coffins were open. The old coot wasn't hiding in any of them! The shop was as quiet as, well, the dead. A soft sob echoed from the back of the shop.  
Curious, Grell walked into the living portion of the mortuary, parting the dark velvet curtain. The Undertaker was curled on his side, sobbing and moaning quietly.  
"Undertaker?" Grell placed a manicured hand on the man's shaking shoulder. Undertaker gasped and drew away.  
"Undertaker, please. I'm not going to hurt you." Grell surprised himself with how gentle his voice was. The legend looked up, his pupils dilated, crystalline tears clinging to his silver lashes. Grell knelt besides him and held him tightly. I guess I can do for him what I wish someone would have done for me. The older reaper collapsed into the embrace, clinging to Grell tightly.  
"Make them," his voice was shaky, "make them stop!"  
"Make who stop, love?" Grell rocked back and forth, trying to calm the distraught mortician.  
"The voices, Death, the Fates, The Higher." Undertakers voice trailed off and he pressed his taloned hands against his scalp. A faint trail of pink streaked threw his silver hair.  
"Please, don't do that!" Grell gently pulled the older reaper's hands away from his head. The pale, scared skin was stained red.  
"Please," begged Undertaker, "please make them stop."  
Grell stroked Undertaker sliver tresses, "I can't make them stop, but I might be able to drown them out?"  
The legend's bright eyes became unfocused. "Please." he whispered.  
Grell wasn't sure if he was responding to him or the voices, but he decided to act like the comment was directed towards him. The crimson reaper took a deep breath, and started humming. The tune he chose was a lullaby, a French song last sung to him by his human mother. The melody seemed to sooth the trembling mortician. Emboldened, Grell quietly sang the lyrics. The song made him think of apple pie and longs days working side by side with his father. Grell wasn't really surprised that he still remembered the song, after all, something you will never forget. A single tear rolled down his face.

Au clair de la lune  
Mon ami Pierrot  
Prete-moi ta plume  
Pour écrire un mot.

Ma chandelle est morte  
Je n'ai plus de feu  
Ouvre-moi ta porte  
Pour l'amour de Dieu.

Au clair de la lune  
Pierrot repondit  
Je n'ai pas de plume  
Je suis dans mon lit.

Va chez la voisine  
Je crois qu'elle y est  
Car dans sa cuisine  
On bat le briquet.

Au clair de la lune  
L'aimable Harlequin  
Frappe chez la brune  
Elle repond soudain.

Qui frappe de la sorte?  
Il dit a son tour  
Ouvrez votre porte   
Pour le Dieu d'Amour.

Au clair de la lune  
On n'y voit qu'un peu  
On chercha la plume  
On chercha du feu

En cherchant d'la sorte  
Je ne sais ce qu'on trouva  
Mais je sais que la porte   
Sur eux se ferma.

By the time Grell had finished, he was crying steadily. Undertaker's shaking had stopped, but he still clung to Grell like a lost child.  
"Don't leave. Not yet." Undertaker's voice was more steady but no less frightened.  
"Of course. I'm not going anywhere." replied Grell. He still couldn't figure out why he was so concerned about Undertaker's state of mind. Maybe it was because the situation reminded him of a time in his own life, when all he had needed was someone to guide him down the right path. Instead he had found someone who just dragged him further off the deep end.  
Grell shifted the older reaper into his arms and stood up. He overcompensated and nearly fell over. Undertaker couldn't have weighed more then a hundred pounds. The crimson reaper walked up the stairs at the back of the shop to Undertaker's rarely used bedroom. The canopy bed was made up with fresh pink sheets and a black sheer drape. Grell gently lay the legend down, helping him out of his outer robe. The reaper was frighteningly thin, his ribs visible through his thin black shirt. Grell pulled of the thigh high boots worn by the other before stepping out of his own high heels. He lay besides Undertaker, wrapping him in his arms. They lay together like that, until they fell asleep.


	2. You Can't Dance With The Devil On Your Back

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My friend CiCi asked me to dedicate something to his darling V, so this is for you!

When Undertaker awoke, he saw hair. It was a common sight for him, but this morning there were crimson strands mixed with his own silver mane. The mortician nearly leapt out of bed. Then last nights events came flooding back to him. With a soft sigh, he turned to look at the crimson reaper sleeping besides him. Grell's face was relaxed, a small smile gracing his lips. Undertaker had the sudden urge to kiss those lips. He shook his head slightly at the foolish notion, opting instead to snuggle closer to Grell. It had been so long since he had shared a bed with anyone, and he might as well take advantage of it.

Grell woke with a feeling of comfort and closeness. He realized Undertaker was still asleep, curled close against him. The morning sun streamed through the window, overlooking the small London street that had housed the shop for over a century. It was funny how little things changed in appearance, yet how different it really was. What he wouldn't give to wake up this way every day, in a place he felt comfortable with someone he cared about. Grell had decided that he did care for Undertaker, otherwise he wouldn't have stayed, knowing that it would make him late to work. So late in fact, that it seemed pointless to go in. The crimson reaper reluctantly slid out of the warm nest of blankets, reaching blindly for his glasses. He pushed them onto his face, then searched through his coat pockets for his phone. Finding it he grinned triumphantly. Grell walked downstairs back to the kitchen, so as to not disturb the sleeping mortician.

 

Grell pressed one, speed dialing William.

"William Spears, London Dispatch.  How may I help you?"  Will's voice crackled due to poor connection between realms.

"Will-darling, it's Grell.  I have a bit of an emergency, so I won't be in today."

William's sigh made the phone crackle again, "Sutcliff, if this emergency has anything to do with your not regulation clothes or outrageous hair, I will give you so much overtime you won't leave the office for a week."

"No, no darling!" assured Grell quickly, "This is an actual emergency.  You can trace my phone and see I'm not at my flat and I'm not out shopping."

"Fine, Sutcliff.  But I expect to see you at work tomorrow on time and for you to work productively."  Grell could practically see him rubbing his temple, sitting in his office chair.

"Thank you dear!  I  _promise_ I'll make it up to you." Grell paused between each word, knowing it drive Will to distraction.  he couldn't help it, the man was just too adorable when he was frustrated.  William didn't even answer, opting to just hang up.  Feeling as though it was his turn to sigh, Grell did so, quite dramatically.

 The crimson reaper decided to would be worth trying to make breakfast.  He pulled a black ribbon from his coat and bound his hair out of the way.  Grell shrugged out of his coat and carefully hung it on the back of a chair.  It wouldn't do to get flour on his favorite coat.  Humming a little tune, Grell flung open the white painted cabinets.  He found it was difficult to keep his past locked away after last night.  As Grell mixed pancake batter, memories flew through his mind, both good and bad.  There was one thing that strung the memories together, music.  Grell's mother, Jacqueline, had always been singing.  She said that even though she couldn't always act on her desires, sometimes singing about them was enough.  Jacqueline's songs had all been in French, the language of her homeland.  She had taught Grell French, but never anyone else, not even her husband Richard .  It had been their secret.  Grell had loved his mother more than anyone before or since.  When she had died, a part of him died with her.  Grell shook his head, clearing the depressing thoughts.  He sang a line from one of his favorite songs.

_And it's hard to dance, with the devil on your back_

He chuckled sadly.  It felt as though he had been carrying the devil for so long.  The pain had faded, back in the academy.  But then he left, just like they all did, and the pain returned full force.

"So shake him off." whispered Grell, "I guess I'll just have to keep trying."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The song Grell is singing is Shake It Out, by Florence + The Machine.


	3. Breakfast Conversation

A beam of sunlight slipped through the curtains, falling across the pale face of the sleeping mortician.  He groaned and rolled over in a desperate attempt to shield his eyes from the light.  Undertaker accidentally rolled too far and fell from the bed with a startled grunt.  Bright green eyes blinked up at the pink silk canopy.  The scent of bacon drifted through the mortuary, making the reaper's stomach growl hungrily.  Undertaker sat up with a sigh, reaching for a clean robe. He found his treasured lockets carefully placed on the side table. The legend fastened them around his waits before slowly making his way downstairs.

Grell was pouring pancake batter onto a griddle besides some already sizzling bacon.  Undertaker paused in the doorway, smiling at the crimson reaper.  Grell was always so bright and happy, so full of life.  His smile faded.  Grell had seen him at his weakest, his worst.  Then he had stayed the night.  The legend felt guilty, and also afraid, something he had not felt in centuries.  He had stolen so much of this vibrant reaper's time, had kept him from his home where he no doubt had someone waiting for him.  Undertaker had always enjoyed visits from Grell, but those would stop.  after all, he had only ever come for information, and how could you trust an informant with voices in his head?

The kettle whistled, breaking Undertaker from his reverie.  He walked over to the stove and poured the hot water into the beakers Grell had set out.

Grell smiled at him, "Good morning, did you sleep well?"

Undertaker forced a smile to his face, thankful that his hair hid his eyes, "Very well, indeed.  You didn't have to make breakfast."

Grell touched his arm, "I know I didn't have to do any of this, but I wanted to."  He put a pancake and some bacon on a plate for Undertaker before serving himself.  The mortician took the plate from Grell and pulled out a chair for him.  The crimson reaper smiled, "See?  You treat me like a lady, and no one else does.  I would miss this terribly."

Undertaker relied, "Then others are fools, you are a lady and should be treated like one."

Grell grinned, displaying his shark like teeth, "I have not always acted like a lady."

"You will always be in my eyes.  A heroine who was able to calm the voices."

Grell shook his head adamantly, "I am no heroin.  I helped because I saw myself in you.  When I had need a hand to hold, to pull me from the ledge, everyone turned away.  I was consumed by grief and loneliness.  That's how I found Angelina, and she pushed me over the cliff.  How could I walk away when I saw someone who needed the hand I had been denied?  That the lack of had turned me into a monster?"

Undertaker's puzzled expression quickly changed into one on understanding and something else Grell could not name.  "Jack?" he asked.

Grell nodded slowly, "Jack.  The monster that I became."

"I saw what you did to those girls.  How you tore them apart for things beyond their control."

Grell swallowed slowly.   _This is it,_ he thought.   _This is when he sends me away in disgust, as everyone else has._ "I- I don't think to excuse my crimes, for I know that is was wrong.  I suffer daily from the memory of what I did with the Madame at my side."

Undertaker brushed his bangs from his face, revealing bright emerald eyes fringed with silver lashes.  "You o not regret killing her?"

Grell looked up, "No, I do not.  I thought of her in that final moment, and ended her before he nephew did.  Ciel would have dragged her back to the queen in shackles, destroy her reputation, and finally executing her like some common criminal.  I couldn't let them do that to her, I would rather she be just a moral who fell under my influence and I eventually betrayed.  One more crime to my name was nothing."

Undertaker reached across the table, taking Grell's manicured hands in his own.  "I can see that you have suffered for your past, so I see no reason I should rub salt into an already painful wound.  you have told me your story but not asked for a word of mine, why is that?"

Grell smiled sadly, "I feel comfortable with you, and I needed to tell someone.  I guessed you would be able to listen and not hate me, and it looks like I guessed right.  I would never ask something of you that you did not first offer."

Undertaker smiled, "Come back tomorrow and I think I'll be ready to tell you."

Grell stood up and walked around the table, "Thank you Undertaker.  I'll be back."  The crimson reaper wrapped him in a hug, the first hug he had had in far to long a time.

"Thank you Grell."

 


	4. Thorns

Grell shrugged on her coat as he headed through the coffin filled front room of the mortuary.  He felt lighter, as if by sharing his regrets, a great weight had been lifted off his back.  As Grell reached out to open the door, it was opened from the other side.

"Alan!" cried Grell.  "What are you doing here?  I though Will has put you on desk duty for the time being."

Alan smiled gently, "Nice to see you Grell.  The others are all in the field, so William had no chose."

The crimson reaper stepped away from the door and walked back down the hall to the kitchen, "Come on in.  Undertaker is in the back."

Alan followed Grell, saying, "I'm actually here to see you.  William took your advise and traced you phone.  He sent me to make sure you weren't just out causing trouble."  He tactfully didn't add that William had cause to suspect this, as Grell had often skipped work.

Grell waved a delicate hand dismissively, "This was an actual emergency.  Undertaker can vouch for me."

They walked into the kitchen, where Undertaker was leaning on the table with his head in his arms.  Grell gently touched his shoulder, "Dear, you have a guest."

The legend looked up, "Ah, pardon me.  How can I help the dispatch?"

Alan was shocked at how kind Grell's voice was.  It was almost as if the abrasive reaper was an entirely different person.  He bowed slightly, "Forgive the intrusion, Sir.  I was  just sent to confirm Grell's location.  I'll be going now."

Undertaker leaped to his feet, "No, no.  I insist you stay awhile.  Unless of course, you slave driver of a boss wants you back."

Alan smiled and shrugged, "I wasn't suppose to leave the office today anyway.  Eric didn't want me to go in at all.  I believe I'm entitled to a little break."

Grell pulled out a chair for Alan, "Have a seat.  I'll make us some tea."  Grell put the kettle on, and pulled out three fresh beakers.

Undertaker sat back down across from Alan, "How has life at the dispatch been? I hate to say I'm rather out of the loop."

"Dispatch is understaffed, and taking risks.  Demon attacks have increased, but they're still assigning solo missions.  I've just been feeling so useless."

Undertaker raised an eyebrow, although the expression was hidden by his hair, "And why is that?  You seem to be in fine shape."

Alan chuckled sadly, "I an anything but.  My life is on a timer."  He pushed up a sleeve slightly, revealing a delicate pattern of thorny vines trailing up his arm, "I have the thorns of death."


	5. Truth and Worry

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry this took so long, I've been working on other stories that I promise I will post ASAP. Hope you like it, and please comment, it helps me write faster!

Grell brought three beakers of tea over to the table.  He pulled out a chair and sat besides Alan.

Undertaker brushed his bangs away from his face, "I am so very sorry.  I don't know."

Alan shrugged, "It's alright.   I have come to terms with my own mortality."

Grell put a gentle hand on his shoulder, "You're too good.  But you can't give up just yet."

"Grell, there is no cure, and fighting only makes it that much more painful to let go."  He wrapped his hands around the warm glass beaker, "I care too much.  That is what got me in this situation in the first place, and why I have such frequent attacks.  Eric thinks that he is the cause of my worry, and he sometimes is.  But I don't think I could do this with out him.  Is that horribly selfish?"

Undertaker shook his head, "It is not selfish to want to be near the one you love most.  Don't make the same mistake I did."

Alan seemed intrigued, but was too polite to say anything.  Grell, however, knew that a story kept to ones self is more painful in the long run than a story shared among friends.  "Darling?" asked the crimson reaper.  "You know you can tell us.  Of anybody, we will understand the best.  But I promised I would not push you, and will do no such thing."

Undertaker sighed, and began, "I was in love, young and foolish.  I had just married the woman of my dreams, and we had a beautiful little girl.  One day, I- I I went into the town, and I didn't say goodbye to our daughter.  I didn't kiss my wife, one last time.  And when I came back...."  Undertaker broke off with tears in his eyes, "They were gone.  I hand't been there to protect them, my family had needed me and I had abandoned them."  Undertaker's tears spilled over, running in silver streaks down his scarred face.

Grell reached over the table and took his hands, "You didn't abandon them.  I'm sure they knew you loved them."

Undertaker shook his head and wiped his tears away with his sleeve, "I'm sorry.  I though I could tell you, it has been so long."

Alan smiled sadly, "Some hurt doesn't go away.  It haunts you for your entire life, but you have to learn how to carry it.  You can't let it overwhelm you."

"Such wise words from one so young.  I though that was my job, being the old timer here."

Alan shook his head, "I may know it to be true, but I'm still far from putting it into practice."

 

Grell chuckled sadly, "It seems as though it is my turn to tell a chapter of my story."

"You don't need to if you'd rather not, but I will listen." said Alan.  "As you have listened to me."

"I need to tell you.  It may take some of the weight off my back.  I'm sure you all remember 1888?"

Undertaker looked up from his tea, "I will never forget it, but do you wish to share this particular chapter?"

"Yes, for as Alan says, it haunts me obsessively.  My actions were cruel, evil even.  Everyone know what I did, but not why."  He looked at Undertaker, "I have told you some, but not all.  Long before I was a reaper, I was a father.  My wonderful twins, Aaron and Katherine, I loved them more than life its self, but it was not meant to be.  My marriage fell apart, and Janet took them.  She took my entire world. One night I heard they had fallen ill.  I rushed to see them, but Janet would not let me into their room.  They-they died while we stood in arguing in the hall."

Alan hugged Grell tightly, overcome by a protective feeling for his friend, who had lost so much, but was always there to pick him up.  "Grell, your not the only one.  I have not lost like the two of you, but I will never experience the kind of love you felt for your children either."

Grell pulled away, "Couldn't you adopt?"

Alan shook his head, "Leave a child without a parent, and Eric to raise them alone?  If loving Eric is not selfish, this most definitely would be."  Alan raised a hand to his temple, and closed his eyes.  His breathing grew ragged.

Grell put a hand on his shoulder, "Alan?"

Alan's eyes flew open, and he doubled over in pain.  He cried out.

"Alan!" Grell looked at Undertaker, "He's having an attack, we need to get him to the hospital."

Undertaker nodded, and gently scooped the writing reaper into his arm, "I'll need you to make the portal, as I have no idea where it is we're going."

Grell nodded, and closed her eyes.  A swirling, black hole appeared in the middle of the kitchen.  "Let's go."

They stepped through the portal.


	6. Hopes and Dreams

Grell's portal left them standing before the desk of a rather shocked receptionist.  Alan had stopped convulsing and was now laying still in Undertaker's arms.  Grell marched up to the desk, "This is Alan Humphries.  I'm sure you know him, so get some help down here now!"

The woman nodded shakily, hitting the emergency call button on her desk.  Moments later a gurney pushed by two techs burst into the room.  Undertaker quickly placed Alan on the bed, shocked to find his hands were shaking.  The crimson reaper attached herself to Alan, rushing along besides them.  Just before she disappeared through the door, Grell turned and tossed Undertaker her phone, "Call Eric.  Speed dial on 2."  With that, they were gone.

Undertaker looked at the phone suspiciously for a moment then pressed 2, lifting it to his ear.  Eric picked up on the third ring, "Hey Red.  What's up?"

"This is Undertaker, Grell lent me her phone.  We're at the hospital."

Eric broke in, "What happened? Is Grell okay?"

Undertaker shook his head, then realized Eric couldn't see that. "No, Grell is fine.  Alan had an attack.  Nothing fatal.  She's in with him now, so she asked me to tell you."

Eric fell silent for a moment, "I'll be there in a sec."

The line went dead.  Undertaker sighed, running his hand through his long sliver hair.  He knew what it was to loose a loved one, and it would hit Eric just as hard as it had hit him.  And Grell too.  How could fate be so cruel as to put love within the grasp of these bright, young people, only to snatch it away?  No, the cruelty of fate was as familiar to the mortician as the pain of loss.  After all, was it not her voice that haunted his nightly dreams, chasing him through his darkest memories, highlighting his wrongs?

The doors of the hospital slid open and Eric Slingby rushed in.  He ran to the receptionist deck, "Where is Alan?"

"I'm sorry Mr. Slingby, you can't see him, Mr. Humphries is in surgery."

The Scotsman cursed then slumped into a chair besides Undertaker.  He took a deep breath, trying to keep himself form barging into the OR, and grabbing on to Alan.

Undertaker brushed his bangs away from his face, "Look at me."

Eric turned, startled by the intensity of the legend's eyes.

"Alan will be fine.  He is stronger than he seems."

"I know that, I just can't bare to see him suffer."

"I understand.  I can tell you love him very deeply."

"I do!" cried Eric.  "I don't know what I'll do when...."

Undertaker sighed, and told him the truth, "You'll feel as though your heart had died with him.  It will hurt so much, you will hate the whole world for not saving him.  You hate  _him_ for dying and leaving you here to suffer alone.  Most of all, you are going to hate yourself, for every unkind word, for every moments you were apart."  His voice trailed off, "For not saying goodbye."

Eric heard the pain, the truth in Undertaker's words.  He knew he would be hurt, angry, broken.  He just hopped that he would be able to do as Alan wished him to, and find some way to move on.


End file.
